


Taming the Beast

by Caffiend



Category: Kong: Skull Island (2017), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Explosions, F/M, Indigenous tribes, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Pollen, Skull Island, So much smut, Vaginal Sex, everything wants to eat you, exotic sex positions, james conrad is stupidly hot, james conrad's tight black jeans, katanas, sex to save your life, skull crawlers, tom hiddleston's perfect ass, yeah sounds sketchy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29292216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiend/pseuds/Caffiend
Summary: In which you're minding your own business when a tall, cool drink of water named Captain James Conrad saunters onto your ship. All of a sudden, there's explosions, a gigantic ape, things that keep trying to eat you and then something called SEX POLLEN?
Relationships: Captain James Conrad/Clarice Sawyer
Comments: 151
Kudos: 85





	1. I Beg Your Pardon?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misreall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misreall/gifts), [uglywombat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglywombat/gifts).



> A Sex Pollen - James Conrad smutty something-something. This is for misreall and uglywombat who are the only two reasons my feeble ass can keep writing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clarice meets Captain John Conrad. And makes a woman noise.
> 
> BTW: I've changed the time of this story to current day. I don't like the 70's. I don't like their fashion or their music so... I'm shallow. Sue me.

“I beg your pardon?”

Okay, not your most snappy response, but when a beautiful man with biceps splitting the sleeves of his sweaty t-shirt tells you that you have to have sex with him to save an island and its population of rare species of plants an’ animals an’ people and a gigantic freaking ape from destruction, pardon you for staring at him like the cheese done slid off that boy’s cracker.

“Captain Conr-”

“James,” he interrupted with a rueful smile, “we may as well know each other on a first-name basis since we are about to…” Even this fine, muscled specimen of man halted for a moment, poleaxed by the predicament you were in.

_________________________

This all started real innocent, like every adventure - slash - disaster in your life. You were minding your own business, singing,

_“Will the circle_

_Be unbroken_

_By and by Lord,_

_By and by_

_There's a better home a-waiting_

_In the sky, Lord, in the sky…”_

… and making buttermilk biscuits when Captain Caleb stomped through your nice clean kitchen with a pleasant-looking gent wiping his sweaty forehead. 

“Clarice, this is Bill Randa. We’re taking his men and a military science unit to _Đầu lâu Island_ and you’ll need to lay in provisions for 80 people and-”

You held up one floury hand. “What island?”

The captain shifted from one foot to another. “Just…”

“It’s just one of those outlying land masses to the north,” that sweaty fella in a fancy suit broke in. “That’s not important. But we’ll need to leave tonight by eighteen-hundred hours and you-”

You were already pulling off your apron and walking away from them.

“Miss, where are you going?” barked Randa.

“Now Clarice, don’t get all-” started Caleb, and you shot him a glare that should’ve melted him like an icicle on a July afternoon in Death Valley.

You pointed one finger. “Don’t you get all ‘now, Clarice,’ with ME, mister! You know plain good and well where Mister Crazypants wants us to go and I am NOT-”

“This is a high-security-”

“I don’t care if the President himself told you to sashay yourself-”

“Clarice, just-”

And then that tall cool drink of water just had to walk into your kitchen and it’s possible that you might have made a little woman noise when his ocean blue eyes looked into yours.

Ocean blue like the Chesapeake Bay where you grew up and Lord, but you bet those eyes could turn stormy, too like the Bay did before a hurricane.

“My apologies,” Mister Tall Drink of Water said, “I was looking for Lt. Colonel Packard?”

Darn it! There was that woman noise again because sweet baby jesus that man’s voice was smoother than a fine sip of bourbon on a summer’s eve. You wanted to sink right through the floor because those pretty eyes turned to you and you could see the little smirk hiding behind those lips. Well, you were mortified that’s what you were and so naturally you tried to gather yourself and show some authority but since your voice was rising to the pitch of a seagull you weren’t sure how well you pulled it off. “I suggest you take a look on the docks, mister because that’s where your whole kit and kaboodle is about to land.”

“Clarice,” groaned Caleb again and you were ready to hit him backside the head with your biggest wooden spoon. 

“You do not start with me, Caleb Brown you do not!” You had your hands on your hips, all stern and ‘I’m in charge here!’ but Mister Sweaty Suit was not giving up.

“Miss, uh, Clarice I’m sorry you’re unsettled but I promise you that this is a simple science expedition to-”

Your gaze cut to Mister Scrumptious, who had taken to leaning against your giant wall fridge, biceps bulging away as he folded them over a chest as wide as the Mississippi. He was all quiet and watching everything. He was military for certain. You know the look.

“No, Mister Randa, this is not a simple anything,” you interrupted. “You think we’re that dumb? Hell honey, I got a southern accent but I can read and write and everything. You wanna go to Skull Island.” You watched with just a bit of satisfaction as all the color left his face. Sashaying forward, hands on hips, you continued, “You don’t think we know about Skull Island? Hell’s bells, everyone in a 200-mile shout knows what the hell is happening on _Đầu lâu Island_. Hundred mile an hour winds, fog so dense radar can’t penetrate? Lightning guaranteeing to short out your electrical? Oh, and hell…” now you were getting warmed up and giving what your ex-boyfriend used to call the Pointing Finger of Admonition at your cringing captain and Mister Sweaty-face. “Hell, if you do make it through the storm zone - and no one does, mind you - you get through? Rocks sharper than a buzz saw waiting to take you down. Because nobody steps foot on that island.”

“Miss, please understand that-”

“No, sir, you understand! You ain’t taking my ship through that hell ride.”

That got that tasty morsel of man-candy interested, one brow going up, all elegant like Mr. Spock. Ignoring him, you turned back on the other two. “Yep,” you enjoying popping that ‘p’ for sure, “my ship. I may be the cook but I am also the owner. And I’m not killing my crew and downing my ship for your spying and weaponizing. No.”

You should have known better.

That no-good Randa and his scary-eyed soldier buddy Packard were slicker than deer guts on a doorknob. They knew what members of your crew were there illegally. Which ones might be deserters from an Army that wanted them to die for something stupid and pointless. Which Vietnamese crew were onboard working their hearts out to send money home or avoid some local drug lord who wanted them running opium and ruining more lives? Of course, they did. And you knew all those gigantic crates they were loading onto your deck weren’t umbrellas and beach chairs. But sure enough at eighteen hundred hours, you were glaring at Capt Caleb when he hit the foghorn, long and loud and you and your ship and your crew were on your way to certain death.

Over the next day, you found your favorites from the newcomers. Not that Lt. Colonel Packard. That man had the long-eyed stare that told you he’d been on too many missions and did too many dark deeds. There was a photographer, you knew her work covering hot spots all over the globe and she was sassy.

“Clarice, didn’t you promise me baked rice pudding on the menu today?” she laughed, darting around you like a dragonfly when you tried to swat her with a spoon.

“You’ll get it when I’m good and ready, Mason! You put that camera down or it’s going in the oatmeal!”

A couple of the actual scientists were real sweet, too. San - she was too young to be out on a mission like this - and a young fella with glasses, you were sure they would be a cute couple. Some of the actual soldiers were good people, always “Ma’aming” you and thanking you for meals like they hadn’t eaten for weeks.

And that Captain James Conrad… Oh, he finally introduced himself properly, taking your hand and shaking it gently. He stared down at you with a gentle smile and lord, but that man was tall! “It’s a pleasure, Clarice-?”

You were busy enjoying the feeling of that giant mitt swallowing up your hand, warm and calloused, and not just from playing pool and unloading suckers of all their spare cash. You heard the stories. “Clarice Sawyer, Captain Conrad. What brings a big-shot SAS officer out on a shady-lookin’ deal like this?”

His smile faded, which was a real shame. “I’m no longer in Her Majesty’s service, Miss Sawyer. Just James, please.”

You watched him thoughtfully. It seemed like the light left those pretty ocean eyes of his, and that was a shame. “Well, Just James, we’re having lasagna for dinner. You like garlic bread?”

Later on, when your assistant helped you clean the kitchen to a sparkle and shine and you’d chased two of the soldiers out of your deep freezer where they were looking for the rest of the chocolate lava cake, you ambled along the deck, trying to get some fresh air and settle your head. The moon was out- three quarters waxing and so pretty, sending a blazing path of light along the ocean. You tried to find a breeze but your deck was crowded with those gigantic crates. Labeled “Science Equipment.” Like that wasn’t the funniest thing you’d heard all day. You knew the smell of dynamite- the acidic, powdery-dry scent that seared the inside of your nose and made you want to sneeze. Heading into the cargo hold, you frowned. There was too much. Too much of everything for a simple science expedition, which you already knew this was not. But even for whatever silly war games they thought they were playing, there was still-

“-What on god’s green earth is all this nonsense?” you murmured.

“Curiosity killed the cat, Miss Sawyer.” That good looking devil came strolling around the corner of one massive crate. He was wearing a blue, long-sleeved shirt that just about matched his eyes and the sleeves were rolled up, displaying some very fine-looking forearms. There was something about a nicely muscled arm that just got you going.

You narrowed your eyes, “And satisfaction brought him back, Captain. What are you doing up so late? Don’t you need your beauty sleep?”

You watched with misty admiration as he threw back that gorgeous head and laughed. “Too late for that, I’m afraid.”

“You British,” you chuckled, “so modest and such.” He was leaning against the same crate as you and you could smell him - freshly showered skin, the mint of the soap and something… warm? He smelled like warm would feel. It was all you could do all of a sudden to not just dip your nose into that hollow between his collarbones where his shirt gaped open and just nuzzle him. This boy was _fine-_ if you didn’t have self-respect and… stuff you would be on him like a duck on a junebug. Giving a little sigh, you tried to refocus. “And what are you doing, Captain Conrad? Taking a midnight stroll? Birdwatching?”

He did another one of those elegant brow lifting thingies, which you appreciated. “Simply surveying my surroundings, Miss Sawyer, like a good sold-” he paused and gave a sigh. “Like a good decommissioned soldier,” Conrad added.

“Yeah,” you absently kicked the side of the crate you were leaning on. “Never seen a ‘science mission’ that needed surface to air missiles.” Yep, there was that lifting of the brow thing again. Conrad moved a little closer, fixing you with that stern look of his. Bet that dropped a lot of panties in his time. _Oooo, Daddy Conrad,_ you thought for a minute before wanting to knock your head against the steel shipping container. 

“Now, how would a nice Southern girl like you know about heavy-duty military equipment?”

You burst out in raucous laughter. “Oh, please, darlin’. My daddy was Navy. Captain of his own battleship before he had a triple bypass. Pensioned out of the service and bought this gigantic thing. I left my prac- where I worked to help him run the crew.”

“And your mother?”

Shifting so you wouldn’t have to look at him, you said, “Oh, cancer. Passed away when I was fourteen. It’s always just been Daddy and me.”

It was just unfair that this man had the kindest smile you’d ever seen. “I’m sure he’s very proud of you.”

Moving off in a slow stroll, you made him follow you. “And you? Where’s your folks?”

Conrad was wearing these dark jeans, low on his hips and fitting so nice over that perfect butt of his. He moved alongside you, hands respectfully behind his back like he was taking you to the Cotillion. “My father was also in the military. He was…” he paused, taking in a deep breath of the ocean air, “his plane was shot down. He was never found.”

You touched his arm, feeling the pull of muscle there, that big bicep shifting under your fingers. “I’m sorry. I can’t- Is that why you joined the service? You wanted to honor him?”

He was staring out over the ocean, so you got to enjoy that perfect profile for a minute. “I suppose. Yes, actually. My mother couldn’t understand why.”

Lifting your heavy mass of hair off your sweaty neck, you sighed. “Well, I’m gonna repeat you back to you. I’m sure your daddy is very proud of you.”

Conrad leaned in closer and my, he did smell good! And so tall… “Thank you.”

You could have just… gone for it. Gone up on tiptoe and kissed him. You know he wanted to but the man was still an officer and a gentleman. “Tell me something?”

His gaze was still on your mouth and Conrad lazily hummed like he was listening.

“Why would they need one of the best trackers on the planet for a simple science mission?” You could feel him stiffen, but he didn’t move. “What are you tracking, James?”

There was a moment where you almost thought he might answer you. Tell you the truth. You knew this boy knew how to evade. How to lie but it almost looked like he was gonna ‘fess up and then…

“Goodnight, Miss Sawyer. Sleep well.” And that handsome son of a gun strolled off into the night, leaving you to kick one of the shipping containers and nearly break your toe, hopping up and down in pain and trying to silently mouth a string of very unladylike curse words.


	2. Hotter Than A Jalapeno's Coochie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clarice and James get to play Doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So devotees of Kong: Skull Island may notice timeline changes here. Sorry, Sex Pollen pops up when it's damn good and ready.

You woke up the next day with a feeling of utter dread. You felt like your Gran Sawyer, who embodied the worst of the superstitious and sour suspicion of your Irish roots. She was the only woman you knew who could gaze out on a clear blue sky and snarl, “Hurricane weather. I can feel it in my joints.” But you must have been channeling Gran because everything was off. Yanking on your jeans and squinting out your porthole, you groaned. Just like a bad horror movie, the glistening ocean about a mile away was cut off abruptly by a wall of fog so sharp and precise that it beat the pleat in your daddy’s dress blues.

Scampering up the side stairs to the bridge, you already found that scowling Lt. Colonel Packard, his shadow Major Chapman and Bill Randa looming over the sour-looking Captain Caleb, who’d just ordered the ship to a full halt. You could hear the engines gearing down as Caleb and Bobby, your sonar expert looked between satellite images and the ECDIS screen. You spotted Captain Conrad, looking fine as frog’s hair this morning and lounging all gracefully against the back wall, watching everyone. Giving him a low “Mornin’” as you slid past, you sighed a little. Conrad smelled all… manly. No other way to put it. He radiated that quiet competence that you just loved. You were always surrounded by these big ol’ burly men who could never seem to stop shouting. But this gorgeous thing seemed to see everything, but say nothing. Which was a shame with that British accent of his, butter-smooth with that little tingle on the finish? Your filthy musings were interrupted by the low conversation at the instrumentation board.

“Are you seeing this electrical activity?” murmured Bobby, “This could fry half our instrumentation.” 

“You just need to get us in close enough to get our birds in the air,” Packard interrupted.

Pressing his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose, Caleb said, “And determining ‘close enough’ is the problem, Colonel. This entire fogbank is a Class Five electrical storm. We send you up in the wrong location and the electrical field around the choppers will explode them into fifteen million flying metal chips.”

Halfway through piling your hair on the top of your head, you pulled the bobby pins out of your mouth. “Once we’re in that soup you know there’s no determining anything, Caleb. So what’s yer plan? And don’t give me that look, I know you’ve been pondering all night.”

He groaned, clearly displeased by your faith in him. “The only way I can see to pull off this insane stunt is by flying blind. We took measurements from the last semi-accurate depth/distance read we got from the island and pace our progress off of that.”

“Will it work?” It was that Packard, still looking like he was sucking on a lemon.

Caleb gave a humorless little chuckle. “Sure. Or we’ll tear a hole in the hull. One or the other.”

“Inspiring speech, Cap’n,” you offered with a sigh. 

To everyone’s deep relief and mild surprise, _The Athena_ did make it through the terrifying bank of fog and clouds and lightning bolts so vicious that your vision whited out for ten minutes after getting too close enough to one of them. But you were back up on deck supervising food supplies loaded onto the massive helicopters when Mason nudged you. “You’re going to be a mother hen about this, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” you squeezed her arm, pulling her closer. “I put the rest of the chocolate lava cake in your backpack. And some sunblock.” 

“Thanks, little mama,” she laughed, hugging you tightly. Over her shoulder, you caught the dashing Captain Conrad watching the two of you with amusement and dare you say, a touch of lust?

Pulling on his jacket, the man took his sweet time strolling over to you, but it was worth the walk, enjoying how those tight black jeans fit his muscled thighs so nicely. And… other parts of his anatomy. Yanking your gaze back up to his in time to see the slightest grin, you wanted to smack his face. Just smack that gorgeous face and kiss him. Blinking your eyes at that trainwreck of a thought process, you nodded and pasted on a smile. “Y'all take care, Captain Conrad. Good luck keeping these idiots corralled.”

Sighing, he nodded. “Thank you, Miss Sawyer. I hope we’re back in time for that peach cobbler you were promising.”

Whereupon your mouth operated without the rest of you attached and said, “Well, not to worry Captain. Peaches taste better when they’re given time to ripen.” Yeah, this time you were sure you weren’t misreading that glint in his eye and you fanned yourself as he boarded the helicopter, jokingly fighting with Mason over the window seat.

For the first couple of hours, everything went well. But you couldn’t make yourself leave the bridge, sending your kitchen assistant Binh down to get the pork chops started for lunch. You paced back and forth, dodging Caleb who was also pacing back and forth, listening to the radio chatter from the helicopters. The connection was surprisingly good- the crosstalk between the crews and then, the muffled distant “whump!” of explosive charges, making you cringe every time. Even from the ship, you could see the massive clouds of dirt and smoke shooting up from the island with each detonation.

“How many blasted things are they setting off, anyway?” you asked fretfully, “They’re gonna crack that island like an egg, and-”

Then the screaming. Terrified, abortive bursts of frantic shouts and the tear and scream of metal and something in the back… something so loud that it made the hair raise up on the back of your neck as you shuddered, an atavistic terror racing through you. Something so huge that the sound seemed to compress the speakers.

What on God’s green earth was... was that _howling?_

“BINH! Where is- I been running all over hell’s acre looking for my emergency medkit! Did you move it again?” You were scrabbling through the supply shelves in the ship’s medical bay, looking for your “big” kit. It was the medical case crammed full of everything needed for nearly every emergency. You gloated once that you could conduct open-heart surgery with your kit and a car battery for power, and it was almost true.

A quiet voice ventured behind you. “Miss Clarice, it is here.” Binh’s skinny arms were struggling to hold the kit and you yanked it away easily. 

“Oh, thank you, honey. Can you pull out my big mud-bustin’ boots and my storm jacket?” You were already strapping on your Springfield Hellcat .380, which never failed to make Caleb laugh. ‘You can shoot them and then stitch them up, eh Clare?’ Shoving an extra box of ammo in your jacket pocket, you hustled back up the steep galley stairs. 

Caleb was there, a grim expression on his lined face. “You know this is a terrible idea.”

Snorting, you weaved around him

“No, Captain. The terrible idea was taking these yahoos out here in the first place! The entire crew knew this was the stupidest damn thing ever. But now they’re down and I’m the only doctor around here unless you hired on a neurosurgeon that I didn’t know about.” By the time you finished berating the poor man, your gear was piled in the inflatable tender and two gloomy crewmen were ready to help you aboard. Sighing, you patted Caleb’s cheek. “It’s fine. I’ll get ‘em right as rain and the hell back off that island in time for dinner, okay?”

Now, you’ve lived aboard _The Athena_ for ten years now and had your sea legs on you. But that ride to the beach? You and both men were green in the gills by the time you put your foot on solid ground and one of your poor guys had already deposited his lunch and likely breakfast, dinner, and the lunch from the day before over the side of the boat. Standing up a little unsteadily, you eyed the men helping your guys pull the tender up on the beach. “Where’re my patients?”

“Given the screaming we heard over the two-way I’m relieved this wasn’t worse.” You were gritting your teeth under your mask, trying to brace a soldier’s shattered femur back in place long enough to sew the torn muscles and skin. It was bad enough. Of the forty soldiers accompanying the science team, eleven were dead, another fifteen were injured, four too severely to move. The roar you’d heard over the chopper blades, the screaming, gunfire, and static from the radio was still fresh in your memory, ping-ponging back and forth in your skull. You’d heard your crew whisper about it before. _Nhà vua. Kong._

After injecting your next patient’s gash on his arm with Lidocaine, you stared at Conrad. He’d stayed with you, helping you with the wounded soldiers, turning, lifting, wrapping bandages and adding splints under your direction. There was no one around you and your patient was delirious. “What happened out there, Captain? Y’all flew out with eight choppers and I’m counting three.” You grunted with exertion, trying to wedge a clean cover under the man’s bleeding body. “And tell me the truth.”

Conrad gently moved the patient for you, rolling him back on the bedding. “It was the charges. Those damned charges shook the entire island, it should have split in half given the number of depth explosions these idiots planted. We were flying over the north end of the island-” he shook that fine-shaped head of his and looked up at you. “A… hand? Paw? It was a beast. Something so massive that I can’t - the eye cannot accept it as real. But it was. A giant ape.”

Your heart sank so far it was competing for room in your boot with your toes. “ _Nhà vua,_ they call it,” you answered bleakly. “Kong. And those- that Bill Randa’s so dumb he could throw himself on the ground and miss! So, what were he and that crazy-eyed Lt. Colonel thinking? They could weaponize the _Nhà vua?_ I’m just- oh, hold his arm like that, he’s still bleeding.”

The aforementioned Randa stumbled by, still visibly shaken and wiping his brow. He made to walk over to you but a glare over your surgical mask made him turn in the opposite direction. 

“No, the Colonel was just as displeased,” Conrad answered grimly, “he pointed a rifle at Randa demanding information. US Intelligence- oh, and likely British, I’m certain, have known about Kong and monsters like him for years. Decades, possibly.”

“Good Lord almighty, what a mess!” you groaned, tying off the last stitches with a tidy loop. “Then we get these men stabilized and we get everyone the hell off this island. This is the _Nhà vua’s_ island, so we get out of his territory with a big ‘So sorry for bothering you, Sir.’ These stupid…” Wearily stripping off your bloody gloves, you slathered on sanitizing gel and scrubbed at your hands like they’d offended you personally. Pulling on a fresh pair of gloves, you eyed the torn and bloody back of Conrad’s shirt. “Turn around, Captain.”

Shaking his head, the man had the nerve to look concerned for you. “No, I’m fine. You’re exhausted and it’s-”

“You are clearly injured, Captain, and I intend to examine your back. This may shock you, but surviving a helicopter crash will result in serious injury.” He stopped, mouth still open, and began pulling his shirt off. My goodness. It had been a long time since you’d wielded your “I Am A Doctor And You Will Do As I Say” voice and it felt _good._

Let it be said that working on the back of a man this fine was no hardship. You hadn’t seen musculature this perfect since your Anatomy courses in your first year of medical school. Broad shoulders, those perfectly sculpted biceps making an appearance and you were forced to sing, _Jesus, All for Jesus -_ all four stanzas and the chorus! - in your head to force your lust down long enough to take care of a poorly-bandaged gash. 

The crackling of your ship to shore device got your attention as you were cleaning off the blood for the last time. “-Clare? You there?”

“Hey, Caleb,” you pushed your damp hair off your neck, “what’s up?”

“We’re losing our visual with the shoreline,” you could hear his regret and concern. “There’s another storm front pushing through this one - how can there be a bigger storm front for fuck’s sake? But it’s coming and we gotta move _The Athena._ I can’t hold it here.”

“Roger that,” you groaned, “what’s the plan?”

There was a huge surge of static that made you wince, and you barely made out the rest of his sentence. “-South end - sending coor - don’t take your eyes off the -” Another burst of static and you were slapping the speaker with the heel of your hand.

“Don’t take your eyes off what, Caleb?” More goshdarned static. “Caleb? CRAP!”

Mason and Conrad were hovering as you turned, forcing yourself to calm down. “What’s the news?” she asked, playing with the lens on her camera.

 _“The Athena_ has to move off the point,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “There’s gigantic storm front moving in, Caleb can’t hold position. He’s taking the ship to the south end of the island. But he broke up before I could hear the rest. I gotta get my guys fed and guarding the tender tonight. Right now, that’s our only guaranteed way off this rock.”

Sitting against a boulder, you watched the sun slanting deep over the treeline as folks started prepping the camp for the night sweeping over you faster than you’d like. 

No one could have traveled the seven seas as long as you had with your Daddy without seeing some strange stuff. A moonless night with dozens of whales raising their voices in a harmonized chorus of whalesong. Ships that you were absolutely positive were there- huge, eighteen-sailed tall ships that disappeared in front of your eyes. A crazy circular thing with bluish lights hovering over the ocean and pulling up a torrent of seawater into its hull, something that you still fought with Caleb over to this day when you’d both had too much to drink. It was from outer space, that’s certain. But that idiot kept squawking that it was a Russian spy plane stealing fish from international waters. He’d keep hollering about Soviet technology and pounding the table until you pretended to agree just to get him to shut up. So maybe that’s why the concept that you were on an island being ruled by an ape so gigantic that it could tear combat choppers right out of midair and crush ‘em like a soda can wasn’t so hard to believe.

Either way, it felt like the whole island was watching you, or something. Mad at y’all for messing it up with those men and their explosions and their racket. Your skin felt itchy, too tight sometimes and your bones all loose. You felt like… too much o’ something or too little. Mason sauntered over and crouched beside you. “I have the tent closest to your sickbay,” she nodded back at the enclosure where all your patients were covered in gauze and mosquito netting. “You want to bunk with me tonight? Stay close?” 

She touched your knee lightly and you tilted your head. _Oh. Okay, then._ “I’d like to sleep with you, Mason honey. But not _with_ you. You okay with that?”

Kissing you on top of your head, she laughed and stood up. “Gotcha, Clarise. See you in the tent.”

“Thanks. I’m gonna make another round on my patients first,” you yawned, suddenly exhausted. But once you’d made your rounds and even walked back down to the beach to check on the boat and your crewmen, you couldn’t seem to go to bed. Wandering the perimeter of the camp, you watched the little flashes of a thousand phosphorescent bugs, listened to the animals sleepily chatter to each other. There were other sounds, heavy, dragging, noises that you really didn’t want to listen to all that much. And why were you so goshdarned itchy?

“I see I’m not the only one who couldn’t sleep.”

You just barely stopped yourself from jumping right out of your skin.

“Captain Conrad, that was just mean-spirited! Don’t you know you don’t sneak up on a lady like that?”

He pointedly glanced down at the boulder where he’d been seated when you’d wandered by. “How are your patients doing, Dr. Sawyer?”

You huffed a little and sat on an adjoining rock. “Better than they should be, considerin' my surgical suite. You made a fine nurse, by the way.”

Chuckling, he looked up at the night sky, giving you a moment to enjoy his profile. “We didn’t always have a medic in our units, I learned how to triage patients pretty quickly, even if I couldn’t always treat them.”

There were so many things you wanted to do at that moment, primarily _to_ Captain James Conrad. So instead you sucked in a deep breath, trying to regain your sanity. There was a wonderful… something in the air, and you inhaled again. It was floral, something exotic and lovely, something you’d never smelled before but it came like a breeze across your face and you sighed. “That scent is incredible. This island must have all kinds of beautiful plants and flowers- amazin’ rare things. So naturally, this bunch wants to blow them up.”

Watching in misty admiration as his wide chest swelled as James breathed in deeply as well, you almost missed his comment. “I have a feeling that those charges stirred up more than your _Nhà vua._ I am on hoping to keep this group together and safely off the island tomorrow.” His chest… you could see those sculpted pectorals through his thin t-shirt. Land’s sakes, did this man wear anything besides these little bits o’ cotton? 

Still absently fanning yourself, you flushed a painfully bright pink when you realized those heavenly blue eyes were fixed on you, a slight smile on his lips like the man knew exactly what kinds of wicked thoughts were currently front and center in your head. “Um… well, I’m prayin’ for tomorrow, Captain, if this storm holds, I don’t think the tender can make it round the point of the island and over to the south. We might hafta hold out a couple of days. I know I packed enough food to feed this lot ‘till next Christmas, but if we get any more surprise visits from Kong... “ you sighed deeply, feeling that warm, wonderful scent sink into your lungs, feeling all soothing and such. “I’m feeling some concern about my medical supplies.”

Conrad leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped together and eyes warm and searching yours. “You saved the day, riding majestically in on your inflatable chariot.”

You howled, just howled at the graceful description of your clumsy dismount from the boat. “You smooth talker.” Wiping the back of your hand over your forehead, you blew out a sigh. “Lord! Did it get hotter?”

You did notice he was perspiring, too. “It seems that way, doesn’t it? So tell me, Miss Sawyer, how does the owner and head chef of a massive tanker like _The Athena_ happen to be a physician?”

Fanning yourself with a huge leaf, you said, “It was my Daddy. He stayed in the Navy, took every long deployment to pay for my schooling. I was two years into my practice when he had his heart attack. A triple bypass and a strong suggestion he retire from the service. I thought about askin’ him to move to Atlanta to be near me, but… His life was the sea. It woulda killed him to leave it. So when _The Athena_ came up for sale, I bought it. He was madder than a wet hen, but…” You were smiling fondly at the memory, not quite realizing you were unbuttoning your shirt, pulling it off to reveal your sports bra.

“Well, Miss Sawyer, you _are_ certainly hot.”

It was his amazed voice that made you freeze in horror. “Oh, mah god!” You were trying to yank your shirt back on when one big hand landed on yours.

“Wait. You really are…” his hand gently touched your forehead, “burning up.” He took his water bottle and poured some on to the sleeve of your discarded shirt and carefully wiped your face with the cool water. “Does that feel better?”

You made to answer, but your tongue felt stuck to the roof of your mouth. “Mmmmm… my goodness,” came out in a garbled sort of croon. The man had to be as hot as you were but the touch of him sent such nice chills down your face, throat and puckered your nipples like lips to a lemon. You could feel the soft strokes of the cloth, smell Conrad’s spicy mix of sweat and something like... pines trees on a beach. Salty and sharp. You didn’t just put yourself in someone’s strong hands. You were no delicate magnolia. But this man…

“Good girl,” he purred into your ear, suddenly so close you could feel his lips against your skin. “Hold still and let me take care of you.” His crisp British accent was softer somehow, thickened like a roux simmering on your stove and it poured over your nerves. You slumped against his shoulder, resting your cheek against his neck without payin’ much attention. His hands went to your hips and you squeaked as he lifted you easily and set you on his lap, thighs straddling his. 

The cool cloth was traveling over your back and his other hand slid along the base of your spine, gently pushing your jeans lower. 

“Mah gawd, Captain,” you gabbled, “it feels like all the muscles in these big ol’ shoulders are flexin’ and making baby muscles and you’re just…” Your fingertips felt painfully sensitive, mapping every bump and ridge on his hard shoulders, sliding down his long spine and tracing his ribs, feeling the flex and pull of his muscles.

His mouth was on the curve of your neck onto your shoulder and you were pretty sure he was saying somethin’ but all you could hear was the growl of his tone, vibrating against your breasts and movin’ lower at all speed. That big ol’ hand of his slid inside your jeans, cupping your behind and squeezin’ and Lord, did that feel- “Pretty girl, I am going to slide my fingers right inside this pussy unless you tell me no.” That smooth panther sound was gone and now his fancy accent went all gritty and harsh and it was doing something to you.

“Well aren’t you a sweet talker,” you laughed breathlessly and pushed your hips against him, finding a hard, real hot part of him and rubbing hard, just going to town on that real promising dick as you felt one, then two long, long fingers push inside you. When the rough callouses on the pads of his fingers brushed that certain spot you froze, clenching down so hard you heard him groan.

“You’re going to have loosen your grip on Daddy’s fingers or you’ll break them. And then how will I make my sweet girl come?”

Hooking one arm around his neck, you pulled at his belt with the other, eagerly unbuttoning those tight, distractin’ jeans as you pressed your mouth against his. It wasn’t a kiss, really, just two mouths sharing breath and that devilish tongue of his playing in your open, panting mouth. When your hand finally found his cock, you froze again. “Sweet, baby Jesus look at you,” you sighed, feeling his broad chest jolt against you as he laughed. Carefully pulling him out, you squeezed him, enjoying the groan you got back. The heat was a thousand times worse, hotter than a jalapeno’s coochie and you knew it could only stop if you got this nice big thing inside you. Circling your thumb over the silky tip, you enjoyed his slick smoothie’ your way and this was gonna be so-

“Oh, my gawd!” 

He was makin’ you come, that’s what James was doing and the addition of another finger inside you and his thumb gently scratching your button sent your teeth into his neck to keep from screaming. Well, you probably did scream but only Conrad and the night knew any better. Then your hand was all slick and wet and it was pretty clear he found his good moment too.

Conrad’s head reared back and he looked you right in the eye, his gaze all fierce and electric blue and he growled, “I want it again. I want inside you. Daddy’s going to fuck you right in to as many orgasms as it takes until you can’t walk tomorrow, pretty girl.”

There was shouting from the camp and you could vaguely hear your name called.

Both your hands froze their wandering and it felt like a bucket of ice water splashed over the two of you like those ice bucket challenges but nowhere as funny. You gave some kind of weird huff of breath and pulled your hands free, clumsily climbing off his lap and nearly falling on your fanny until James pulled you up, quickly refastening your jeans and helping you into your wet shirt.

Truth be told, he looked at shocked as you did, which was pure mortification. For a second you tried to help him with his pants and then yanked both hands back like he’d slapped them. “Ex- excuse me, Captain Conrad,” you managed to gulp, “I gotta see- I have to go look- I need to-. Oh, hell! Excuse me, good night!” 

And you were off and scampering down the path, sweating buckets and wheezing. _What the hell did I just do?_

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More sex pollen on the way, along with exotic sex positions and alarmingly semi-public hanky-panky.


	3. Like Two Weasels in a Wool Sock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clarice experiences mortification, infuriation, and a shit ton of orgasms. This is 18+ for explicit and vigorous sexual activity. 18+!!!

Your Gran Sawyer-inspired sense of sour foreboding was even stronger after you woke from a few restless hour’s sleep. Also, mortification so deep you could drown in it like a pig in a slop pile.

Smiling down at your patient, you checked his sutures for infection while you stewed internally. Did you really rub yourself all over Captain James Conrad like two weasels in a wool sock last night? You didn’t, please Lord, you did not do that!

Just then, who should pass by but the devil himself, deep in conversation with the Lt. Colonel and Randa, hilariously dressed like a 19th-century British adventurer in deepest Africa, right down to the ascot. As they passed you, Conrad nodded to you, all perfectly respectable as he murmured, “Good morning Dr. Sawyer,” like he hadn’t been exploring your inner passage like Lewis & Clark last night. Only the glimmer in his pretty ocean-colored eyes gave him away. You were a professional. You were no blushing virgin. You were… flushing a lobster shade and croaking out, “Good morning, Captain, gentlemen,” and sounding just ridiculous.

By the time you finished making your rounds and treating a real gruesome-looking rash on one of the science guys, the conversation from those three was loud. Well, Randa and Packard were getting all blustery. Conrad was still speaking in low, controlled tones, and darn if that didn’t do something for you.

“We should bring Dr. Sawyer in on this,” he was saying. When the other men turned toward you with a grudging nod, you stifled a snicker. That was the last laugh you had for a while, because the soldier you’d sent down to bring breakfast to your crewmen guarding the boat was tearing back through the bush.

Panting, he managed to say, “The boat- Sir, it’s crushed. The two men guarding it are gone.”

Yep, you were definitely channeling Gran Sawyer.

Hands on hips as you surveyed the wreckage of your tender, Legendary Tracker Captain James Conrad was livin’ up to his reputation, scouting the area and trying to make sense of scuffed sand, broken tree limbs and your inflatable boat, which looked like it had gone through an industrial-strength shredder. Three hundred times. “The good news is,” he was closing in on you, looking all kinds of concerned and steely. “Your crewmen were alive when they were taken from here. There’s several different sets of footprints, fifteen or sixteen. All barefoot.”

No one could blame you for instantly conjuring up a really riled-up indigenous native population who probably hated everyone’s guts in this camp for blowing everything up and making their king go stomping around. Still. Your guys were alive when they left here. “Thank heavens. So surely their lives had some value to whoever took them. But what on God’s green earth took out the tender? That is not a stomp from a giant monkey paw. This is somethin’ with claws like an angry bobcat. A ten-foot-tall bobcat.”

“Closer to twenty feet high, actually,” Conrad said absently. 

“Oh... “ you were trying to think of something intelligent to add, but instead you were picturing a twenty-foot high bobcat and wondering if you had any aspirin in your medkit. Clearing your throat. “How do we get my men back?”

_“Caleb, come in. Over._

_You heard me! Caleb!_

_You better have a good excuse for not answering me, mister!”_

When chastising the captain didn’t give you a response, you knew y’all were on your own, shoving the two-way radio back into your bag with a huff.

The whirring sound of helicopter blades beginning to spin filled the camp and you hastened yourself over to the landing site. “What new nonsense is this?” you shouted to Mason, who was clearly furious. She was glaring at Packard, who was guesticulatin’ to his soldiers. 

“He’s sending up his people in our last three helicopters to look for the other crash sites. There’s a huge store of explosives that’s still intact. He wants to kill- what did you call it?”

 _“Nhà vua,”_ you answered, still glaring at the Lt. Colonel, who was clearly out of his cotton-picking mind. “Just say Kong, it’s easier. Why?”

“Because Kong downed all the choppers and killed his men,” Mason said angrily, “and I’m sure this is going to help.”

“There’s other monsters on this rock,” you scowled, “an’ maybe if they weren’t trying to crack the island like an egg with all that dynamite Kong wouldn’t have gotten riled up.” Stomping over to Packard, you tried to yell over the noise from the helicopters. “Colonel, we need these birds to get your wounded out of here and back on the ship! We don’t have a boat any more, and your first responsibility is to-”

Packard whirled on you, and for a minute you thought the man had gone from just one oar in the water to full-out crazy as a soup sandwich. His eyes were alight with the fires of hell and he looked like he was gonna hit you. Putting your hand on your gun holster, you stared right back.

"My responsibility Miss Sawyer," he enunciated viciously, "is to blow that monster ape straight to hell for killing my men." He jerked his head sideways and your gaze went to Randa, who was standing against a tree with Captain Cole's gun against his head. 

"Yes, Colonel, your men are dead but you are about to lose the rest of them if I can't get my patients out of here!" you enunciated right back, using your Doctor Voice. "Surely your responsibility is first to the men still under your command?" He paused for a moment, his body rigid in his uniform and his left eye twitching and you thought maybe the magic of your Doctor Voice was working.

But no. “Then I suggest you go back to your patients and keep them, and yourself, alive.” The barely contained menace in Packard’s voice solidified it. There were so many things you wanted to say right now to Colonel Crazy in loud, colorful language. Instead, you turned around and walked away. You kinda suspected that Captain Cole might have moved his sights and the direction of his gun from Randa to you.

When you reached Mason again, you murmured out of the corner of your mouth, “Where’s Conrad? Looks like the Great White Hunter over there lost any influence he had over Packard.” 

Her pretty face turned sharp and angry. "I don't know about Conrad, but Packard already pointed a gun in my face. He’s out of his mind.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “he’s nuttier than a squirrel turd. What about Major Chapman?”

Mason nodded to one of the helicopters, “He’s taking off right now.”

“Aw, damn,” you lamented. Watching the three choppers taking off, you were channeling Gran Sawyer so hard you were thinking in her Irish accent. _This mission is doomed._ Groaning, you rubbed your eyes and headed back to your patients.

Halfway there, a pain hit your abdomen like a mule kick. You knew this because you’d been kicked by a mule when you were eight and ignoring your uncle when he told you to stay the hell out of the barn. You went to one knee, trying to breathe through it. You felt Mason’s hand on your shoulder and shuddered. You wanted to shove it off you. Your skin was itchy and tight and she shouldn’t be touching you, not her, but-

“-you okay, Clare?”

“Yeah,” you groaned, climbing to your feet. “Must be cramps. My monthlies, maybe.”

You made it back to the clearing and watched everyone disappear on scouting, reconnaissance, science stuff and whatever the hell else a group stuck on an island with a crazy monkey king might do. Making your rounds with your patients, your brain turned every escape attempt over and over without making a lick of sense from any of them. Now, you were by nature a cheerful person, never mind your gloomy Irish roots. But alone in the camp with only your patients and your .380 to keep you company, it was hard to keep the faith. There was no pies to make or bread to rise, your regular go-to cheer me ups, so when one of your most severely injured soldiers began moaning, you put a cool hand on his forehead and sang one of your favorites.

_I need Thee, O I need Thee_

_Every hour I need Thee_

_O bless me now, my Savior..._

The ground shook beneath you, almost knocking the soldier off his cot, so you held on to him as you kept singing. An earthquake? Did Colonel Crazy’s men find the explosives? 

_I- I- n- n- need Thee, O I need Thee_

_Every hour I need Thee_

_O bless me now, my Savior_

_I come to Thee_

_I need Thee every hour_

_In joy or pain_

_Come quickly and abide_

_Or life is vain..._

The shaking was worse and now joined by a massive thumping noise. You knew what it was. But you couldn’t leave your patients so there was nothing to be done for it. So you sang some more.

_O bless me now, my Savior_

_I come to Thee_

_Just as I am_

_Without one plea_

_But that thy blood_

_Was shed for me…_

You wanted to close your eyes. Just pretend that gigantic ape wasn’t strolling ‘round your camp if you couldn’t see it. But there that Kong was. Blockin’ out the sun and casting y’all into darkness. He wasn’t roaring or poundin’ his chest or the other stuff you’d seen on Animal Planet. He was staring at you. Brown eyes. So tired-lookin.’ Sad. He crouched and there was a big ‘whoosh!’ of air like he’d done sucked it out of the clearing. Your throat locked up and he leaned forward, getting stern-looking.

_T- to- uh... to Thee whose blood_

_Can cleanse each spot_

_Oh, Lamb of God_

_I come, I come_

_Come, ye sinners_

_Poor and needy_

_Bruised and broken_

_By the fall_

_Jesus ready_

_Stands to save you_

_For love pardoning_

_Love for all..._

You were singing like a bullfrog jumped down your throat but the ape didn’t seem to mind. _Thank the good lord there’s eight verses to this one…_ you thought a little wildly. You’d finished off _I Need Thee Every Hour_ and was launching into _Leaning on the Everlasting Arms_ when Kong’s big furry head shot up, his eyes narrowed and he was gone, his big old stomping feet knocking you right off your boulder.

“Clarice! Are you all right? Did he hurt you?” 

It was Conrad, his hands on your arms lifting you to your feet rather abruptly but fine. He put a hand on your cheek, looking you over for damage. “No, I’m… fine? He didn’t hurt us.”

His brow furrowed, making his mighty fine face look all authoritative. “What did he do?"

“He…” you shrugged awkwardly. “He listened to me sing Gospel.”

More bodies suddenly appeared right behind him and you managed to stifle your shriek so it sounded more like a wheeze. They were dressed in very little clothing, with dark skin, lean and sinewy. _Product of a mainly vegan diet supplemented by fish,_ your Doctor Voice mentioned out of nowhere. Bare feet, so these were likely the folks who made off with your crewmen. 

“So this is the pretty doctor you told me about! Yeah, good idea picking her back up!” If you were watchin’ a movie about a crazy guy who got cast away on a deserted island, it would be this gent. Wild hair sproutin’ everywhere and a huge grin that made him look about half a bubble off plumb. 

Within minutes your wounded were picked up in litters and carried away, camp supplies raided and you spluttering in confusion. “I’ll explain,” said James, leaning in nice and close and you smelling that sweet scent from last night, “let me help you with your medkit.” 

“I beg your pardon? Captain Conr-”

“James,” he interrupted with a rueful smile, “we may as well know each other on a first-name basis since we are about to…” Even this fine, muscled specimen of man halted for a moment, poleaxed by the predicament you were in. You were standing in the lushest stretch of jungle yet, close to a village of graceful structures and prehistoric-looking monoliths covered in drawings. You were surrounded by a group of the Iwi - their leaders, you guessed, along with the slightly crazy but real nice Hank Marlow, a slightly gleeful-looking Mason, and _him._ Captain James Conrad. The hottest looking man you'd seen in a coon's age and under the impression you were about to make wild monkey sex.

“I ain’t- I’m not agreeing to anything!” Your voice was pitched high again like the air escaping a balloon. “Just cause y’all said we huffed some- what, sex pollen? It doesn’t mean I’m actin’ like some sacrifice to nature and- uh…” Only in _your_ life would your shot at gettin’ cozy with that fine Captain be part of some island mating dance.

That nice crazy castaway fella - Hank - listened to one of the tribe’s leaders, his cheerful face lookin’ serious all of a sudden. “Doc Sawyer, pardon my blunt talk. You and the Captain here walked through a pollen, uh, cloud? They can smell it on you.” You knew you were gaping at him, mouth open and catching flies, but… “The island releases this pollen every ten years or so to help renew stuff? But the explosions released it early. It’s more potent. It can be toxic if it’s not… uh, used?”

Your lips were movin’ but nothing was coming out, so Conrad took over. “But, how does the pollen usually work?”

Hank shrugged awkwardly. “Sometimes through some of the Iwi. Sometimes animals. Kong lost the last of his tribe over a century ago, so he doesn’t.”

Even in the middle of the “Oh, HELL no!” circling round and round in your head, that made you stop, feelin’ terrible for the giant ape. “He must be so lonely…” you mused. The others stared at you, but you were still fixing on the solitary soul rulin’ this place.

Mason had been standing back, watchin’ this whole mess with a grin you wanted to smack right off her face. “So Clarice, did you smell the sex pollen last night? You and James looked pretty cozy chatting outside of camp. If we didn’t have our little talk, my feelings would have been hurt.”

You glared at her hard enough to give yourself a headache, even if that damn girl just kept on grinning and takin' pictures. "It is true," James said, low enough that only you heard him. "I did not behave like myself last night. I would never-"

For a smart guy, he was sure dumb. "You what, Captain Conrad? You would never _what?"_ He blinked those pretty ocean eyes and they got all wide. Yeah, he was figuring his mistake but it was too late. You had had enough. Whirling around, you went stomping off into foliage, angrily slapping ferns and fronds out of your way and muttering angrily to yourself. _The Athena_ could be shipwrecked. That ignorant Packard was tryin' to murder an ape the size of the Texas Astrodome. And you- you were sweating like a pig and your skin was itchy again and- staggering, you tried to keep upright. That mule was back and kicking your stomach and stumbling, you face-planted into a gigantic lily-pad thingie and then into the water. “Aaaahh!” You surfaced, spluttering and spitting pond water. “What the- where’mi- hey!” There was a big, warm arm wrapping around your waist and James was there, pulling you against his chest and even in the middle of drowning you appreciated the solidness of that fine physique.

He body-rolled the two of you on to another one of those lily-pad thingies, putting you on your side and patted your back. “Can you breathe, Clarice?” 

You coughed up a little more pond muck and scowled. _Now_ he cared? Truth be told, you did feel better. That stabbin’ in your gut was gone and well… my goodness yes, you were better. His big, warm palm rubbing your back felt so good that your eyes drooped a little. His long fingers slid around and rested lightly on your stomach. “Have you been feeling pains, darling? Sharp pain in your stomach?” Those fingers were drawing little circles on your skin, stroking lightly and it was kindling somethin’ lower, like a match to a line of gunpowder like they did in those old Westerns and all of a sudden your girl parts felt like they were ready to explode, just like that big ol’ box of TNT at the end of the blazing line in the movies.

Rolling a little more, you pressed your face into his neck. Captain James Conrad smelled like heaven. Better n’ anything you ever baked, sweeter than anything ever from your garden back home. “Is this part of that blasted pollen?” you groaned, “Because you smell delicious.” Your head jolted a bit as James chuckled. 

“I assure you darling, you smell just as wonderful.” He smoothed your wet hair back and smiled down at you. “But I saw you fall. Have you been in pain?”

Well, right now floating on this rubbery lily-pad and your cheek against this impressively structured bicep, you were feelin’ pretty damn good. “Uh, a couple times earlier,” you answered all dreamy and such.

“It’s from the pollen,” he was speakin’ real close and that fancy English accent was getting a purr on the end, like last night. “The Iwi elders warned that now that it’s… in our bloodstream, I guess, the effects will be painful unless we fuck.”

You actually gasped. Did Captain James Conrad just blurt out the “f” word? How tacky! How… well, it was kinda sexy, to be honest. “You know this all sounds mighty sketchy, right?”

You weren’t sure James was listening any more. His wet t-shirt was clingin’ real tight to those sculpted pectorals and his nipples were little diamond points. Your hand might have drifted down the planes of his stomach, enjoyin’ how the controlled Captain Conrad sucked his breath in. And then...

Well, James growled. He growled like... like the panther you’d seen slinkin’ through the brush when you took a day off when _The Athena_ landed in Burma. And then he flipped you right under him, hovering like that panther about to make a meal of you. His face was red, sweat collecting along his hairline and eyes just black as night. “I’m going to have you, little girl. Unless-” he groaned, forcing the words out. Unless you say ‘no.’ Right now.”

You realized you were rubbing yourself against his thick thigh and groaned, “I’m thinking we’re past that, James.”

Leaning up just enough to not-quite rip your shirt off and remove his own, that blasted, beautiful man grinned - so many white teeth there - and said the words that lit you right up like a firecracker. “Call me Daddy.”

  
  


“Oh, my good lord! You know I tried ecstasy once with a boyfriend… ex-boyfriend, and I guess I would think to compare this insane thing taking over my girl parts, I would think it would be like the E. You know? Smooth and warm, everything a lil’ out of focus. Cuddly and soft. This is not like that. This is as far apart as the molasses-based barbeque sauce from my home state and that godawful peppery dry rub folks in Tennessee use to ruin a perfectly good brisket." She squinted up at James, trying to focus. "Wait. Am I really comparing what’s about to happen to Southern barbeque? Okay… work with what I know…”

James had to press his lips together firmly to stifle a chuckle. He could feel the pollen’s effects deep in his gut, swirling like a particularly malevolent whirlpool of arousal. His fingers were prodding, pushing through her center and right inside her. So slick… so hot and sultry, like the jungle surrounding them. “This is not how I wanted to take you,” he murmured in Clarice’s ear. He could feel the heat of her against him, the earthy tinge of her sweaty skin making them slide against each other in the most arousing possible way. James pulled off her bra, appreciating that she didn’t cringe this time. “But I intend fuck you so deeply that you will walk sideways for a week. This snug little cunt belongs to me now.” He suddenly resented her wet jeans for keeping her from him, yanking and pulling harshly until she was free. The water rocked the lily-pad in response to his movements and he watched her breasts sway with it. Sweet, pretty ones with taut little nipples. Bracing his knees against the slippery surface, James pulled her wide with a hand on her thighs and attacked her center, groaning at the taste.

“Oh! You are the most-” He was going at you like a man on a mission, and lord, if James was this thorough on his military maneuvers, you had no idea how they let him retire. You felt everything - it was light and sparkle and blood rushin’ all through you like a river, carrying this need everywhere. Your hand slipped into his curls, feeling the softness on your fingertips, pulling maybe a little too hard when his lips clamped down around your bud but he didn’t complain 'cause his mouth was full. Your vision kept narrowing in on his dark head buried in your hootchie and doing his good work. So good, it was almost embarrassin’ when you went off like the Fourth of July but you didn’t get any time to dwell on it because all you could think about was getting that part of him you’d been playing with last night inside you.

While you appreciated a man willin’ to pack a lunch and stay for the day down in your lady garden, you pulled on his nice broad shoulders. “Please, James, c’mon up honey!” He ignored you, rubbing the rough pads of two fingers all hard and sexy inside you again. Since he’d already found that spot that made your knees slam shut and toes twitch, you knew he was just showin’ off at this point. Yanking his hair, you pulled him out from between your legs. He looked at you, savage, dark eyes and you shivered. 

“Please… Daddy?”

You didn’t even have time to squeal because his mouth was on yours and he was rubbing the slick tip of that pretty impressive equipment of his against you and you were lifting your hips, trying to catch it and-

Sharply slapping the wet lips of her cunt, James smiled a rather sinister grin as Clarice yelped, a little shocked but still feverishly needy. He could see it- feel the heat radiate off her in waves. “Daddy will fuck you when he decides to. Now be a good girl and be still.” His stern speech was essentially wasted, because he groaned and braced his feet against the glistening surface of their lily-pad and shoved, just shoved himself inside her. His ass tightened, teeth clenched because the only thing cycling through his sharp brain was to fuck this beautiful woman senseless. Fill her to overflowing with his come and then start all over again. “So snug, sweet girl,” he managed to grit out, “so slick and tight around me.” He could feel her feet press into the hollow of his ass, heels pushing him deeper. “Taking Daddy’s cock so well.” 

James _was_ a gentleman. A good lover. A man aware that his cock was generously sized and could hurt a woman if he was crude and greedy. But right now, that was all he was capable of, shoving harder, faster, squeezing her ass to move her back and forth, his mouth alternating between one breast and the other. The force of his thrusts had already moved her across their floating bed and hair halfway into the water and his sweet Clarice didn’t seem to notice, moaning rapturously, her back arched, putting those breasts so nicely in front of his mouth. Growling, he yanked her back down and rose to his knees. Flipping her facedown, James pushed back into her, watching his slick cock widen her, disappearing between her swollen lips. His sweet girl was so wet for him, so deliciously slick and he hoisted her higher, wrapping her legs around his hips, gripping her hips to move her. Scrabbling a bit against the rubbery vegetation, Clarice straightened her arms, lifting herself up a little and right into the position for him to push just a bit higher, feeling himself jolt inside her.

You were out of your mind. Nothing mattered but the feel of his cock inside you, the harsh grip of his fingers and pushing back against his hips which were hammerin’ you something fierce and that was certainly fine. Lucky you had all that upper body strength from hauling heavy pots and hefting bags of flour and sugar because you were fixing to give as good as you got. And this wily boy knew right where to angle because your G spot was getting a beating like a dusty rug and you were pretty sure you’d come a few times. Two or three. Maybe twenty but you were past counting or even shutting up because there was a lot coming out of your mouth and all of it real complimentary. You almost felt like a wheelbarrow he was pushin’ in this position. My, who knew how many positions he could wrestle you into?

A sudden, sharp pain derailed your delirious train of thought- he’d bit you right on your left butt cheek! He laughed at your indignant yelp and said breathlessly, “I’m going to come inside you, my good girl. Flood this narrow cunt and drip out of you.” His fingers were pressin’ real hard under your belly button and sure enough, you came again, realizing he was feeling himself inside you. With another thrust so hard that it knocked you face-first onto your floating green mattress, this- this god of sex and orgasms came too, filling you up. Warm, and wet and spent, you lay under him, panting as he placed kisses along your ear, your chin… This lily-pad was something amazing and you wish you could plant some in the pond back home…

There was a low purr that rippled across the pond and at first, you thought it was your crazy sexy Daddy person, but when you looked up, you opened your mouth fixing to let out a scream. James slapped his hand over your mouth, just in time.

“Hush darling, be still.”

There had to be at least fifty animals, some you recognized, some whose shape bore no resemblance to anything in the animal kingdom, ringing the pond. They were all starin’ at the two of you. 

  



	4. Well… shit fire and save the matches.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clarice and the handsome Captain James Conrad discover that the effects of sex pollen can be longer-lasting than they might have expected. Much, much longer.
> 
> Well… shit fire and save the matches. (Southern speak: complete shock and surprise)

It’s not that you weren’t proud of your body. You could run a good five miles without getting tired and, as might have been mentioned before, you’d spent so long hauling heavy bags of flour and salt that you were pretty toned up and nicely shaped. That said, there was never gonna be a single moment in your entire and long-lived life that you will want anyone seein’ you naked other than the fella you stripped down for.

And now, you were just going to add animals to that list, because it was lookin’ like half the damned jungle enjoyed quite the show.

Your thighs must have gone into a death grip on account of the pure fear coursing through every inch of you right now because there was a muffled groan from above you. “Sorry,” you whispered into James’s ear, trying to loosen up a bit. “Wh- how do we slide out of this all subtle-like?”

His body had been relaxed and loose from those rather impressive sexytimes but now your Captain was rigid, and not in a fun way. “Perhaps it’s a reaction to the pollen?” 

His lips were moving against your ear and it was makin’ you tingle again. You groaned internally, _Not the time, Sawyer!_

He was moving real slow and letting the animals see - you hoped anyway - that he was no threat. “None of them seem to be growling or…” even the smooth-talkin’ Captain James Conrad was struggling for words here. “We’ll just move slowly and calmly, get off this lily pad, and back away. All right?”

“Uh-huh…” you managed to gurgle and then you barely stifled a real filthy soundin’ moan because James was pulling that fine dick of his out of you and then the two made your way across that blasted lily pad, being all wobbly. All those eyes - yellow, gold and red and you thought maybe a couple of purple eyeballs - but they were all following the two of you and it was real unnerving. Still, as your feet touched solid ground most of them just seemed to melt away into the jungle again. “As god as mah witness,” you whispered, “some of these fellas are like those paintings where the eyeballs seem to follow you?” It was excruciatingly uncomfortable, the creatures left were utterly still, but you knew they were watching your retreat. You were sweating more than a hooker in church and if the good Captain wasn’t holding on to your arm, you’d probably pass right out.

“Easy, darling…” James murmured, “almost back on the path. Almost there, just keep stepping back.”

Speakin’ of backs, yours was against his firm chest and it was mighty solid and warm, his heartbeat as calm as if you were having afternoon tea. It was just as the two of you hit the path back to the village when something shot the starter’s pistol because the jungle near exploded with the growls and howls, screeches and snarls and it looked like every creature on God’s green earth was goin’ at it like “it” was goin’ out of style. You were watching parts go into other parts and you wanted to stick your head in a tub of bleach ‘cause there was no way you were ever forgettin’ _that_ scene. “I declare,” you said shakily.

As James turned you to face in the direction of the village, he swallowed hard. “Yes. Quite.”

“Not a word, missy! Not one!” You were pointing a stern finger at a grinning Mason. She attempted to school her sassy face into something looking serious but you know she was about to bust out again. Now granted, y’all had grass in your hair and you were pretty sure you were walkin’ bowlegged but you did not regret that. No sir, not one bit.

“Did you hear the crashes?” Hank was not grinning his crazy grin this time and you felt your stomach fall somewhere in the location ‘round your knees.

“Aw, damn it!” you groaned. You were already looking around for your med kit and didn’t notice everyone staring at the two of you with a certain level of incredulity. “What?”

Mason was chokin’ back some laughter but she sobered up real quick. “You didn’t hear something as huge as a helicopter crash? You know, the big, booming sounds? _Damn,_ girl. You have some serious game!”

James stepped smoothly into the puddle of your embarrassment. “Focus, Mason.” He looked at the soldiers still with the little group, “Do you feel certain you heard three crashes? Did you see smoke? Can we triangulate their position?”

The young fella you recognized as their communications tech shook his head. “This island, man. It’s got some crazy electrical surges that short out everything I’ve been using to track their locations.”

“The only good part here,” Hank was still all serious, “is that we didn’t hear the kind of explosion that you’d get when a bird full of Co2 crashes into a mountain. But that Lt. Colonel Packard,” he took off his cap and rubbed his mostly bald scalp and replaced it, “he doesn’t look like the type to let his grudge go. Especially if Kong was the one to down it.”

James ran a hand through his hair. “So, we don’t know if there’s any functional helicopters left. Given that you didn’t hear an explosion big enough, it seems unlikely that Packard or a crash ignited the Co2 supply.”

Shifting your sticky thighs, you groaned silently. _Focus, Clarice!_ “An’ we don’t know if there’s wounded or how to find them.”

Hank turned as one of the village elders spoke to him. It was a real pretty language, you thought. Kinda musical. When he turned, he looked like he sucked on a lemon. “The Elder think, um, that the explosions woke up the Skullcrawlers.”

“The what?” Mason and you said it together like a comedy team that wasn’t funny.

“They think that’s why Kong attacked the helicopters,” Hank continued. “Evil bastards, the Skullcrawlers, they killed most of Kong’s family, killed my friend Gunpei. They say…” he scratched the back of his neck. “They say if the explosion woke up the Big One? No one’s gonna be alive. They’re not sure even Kong can kill him.”

“Well… shit fire and save the matches,” you gulped. “Packard and Randa have sure made a mess.”

  
While you were checking on your patients, you listened with half an ear as that cute ol’ Hank told the group about being shot down during World War 2. About his Japanese buddy and how they spent the first bit tryin’ to kill each other and then became best buddies. Rebandaging a bloody arm, you squinted as a flash of light nearly blinded you. “What the-?” Hank was wavin’ around an honest to god katana. A katana! And then he has to hand it over to James and of course, that fine-looking thing starts swinging it around and his biceps are flexin’ under his thin blue t-shirt and…

Oh, lord. Really? _Really?_

Your nethers are on fire again and you’re perspirin’ and you might just die if you don’t get that nice big dick of his right back in you. And right then those pretty blue eyes of Captain James Conrad are fixed on yours and yep. Your thighs go up in flames. This sex pollen nonsense was gonna be real inconvenient, what with all the monsters and people-eaters and god knows-

“Dr. Sawyer,” his chest is right in front of you and you’re suddenly lifted and on your feet with a bit of a thump, “could you perhaps accompany me to-”

“Yes,” you’ve got a fistful of his shirt and following right along. “Yes, I could Captain Conrad.”

_Damnit, man! You’re a soldier! Where is your self-control? How are you any better than the animals at the pond?_ Conrad was using his most stern tone, and his cock was paying absolutely no attention. He barely managed to get Clarice out of the village and up against the nearest tree before yanking at her jeans again.

“I am sorry darling and I assure you that when we are off this island I will apologize with dinner and a good wine and flowers, but at this moment-” James managed to wrestle one of her legs loose and spread her legs wide, groaning at the scent of her, and him, and how they blended together and that the only thing that could keep him sane was to be up inside this sweet ship’s cook/gospel-singing/combat physician immediately.

Her low chuckle made him even harder, if that was possible. “You smooth-talkin- OH! My lord!” 

Ah, that breathy little whimper? How could any man control himself? “You are the most delicious inferno, darling,” Conrad said hoarsely, “inside you are better than anything I’ve felt. And I intend to fuck you until you cannot come again. Do you hear me?” Clarice had her arms wrapped around his neck and she was moaning quite delightfully, so he gave her a harsh thrust up and back onto his cock again. “Do. You. Hear. Me, sweet Clare?” Punctuating his words with a thrust each time, just to drive the significance of his intentions, in case perhaps his lovely girl was not paying attention.

Gripping the back of his neck and wishing those almost-curls in his hair were longer, she bit his chin. “Can’t believe I’m sayin’ this because lord, you and that voice! But less talkin’, honey. More fucking.” 

He was pleased to follow that order, harshly gripping her ass with one hand and putting the other behind her back to keep the tree bark from scraping her, James bent his knees slightly, driving up harder inside this perfect little peach. Her legs tightened around his waist again and he was vaguely pleased that she might leave bruises, a battle scar, or two. Chuckling a bit hoarsely, he murmured, “Give me some sugar.” Clarice gave a delightful little giggle back and planted her lips on his, sweet and lush, and then that little tongue of hers started playing with his. He allowed a moment of this before hiking her a bit higher and fastening his mouth over one breast, wetting the thin cotton of her shirt and sucking hard at the nipple underneath. This had the delightful effect of both making his saucy girl squeal and tightened her channel so abruptly that he was frozen in mid-thrust.

Groaning, James urged, “As much as I’m enjoying this snug little cunt, darling, if you don’t let me move I will not be able to give you the orgasm you very much deserve.” Placing a kiss on the wet spot on her shirt, he squeezed one breast with a wicked little grin and began pounding into her again. The first time she came, her back arched right off the tree, making him stumble and nearly fall out of her. Gritting his teeth, James hoisted her higher, tightening his grip on her ass and enjoying her moaning into his ear. There was sweat and slick everywhere, making them move and slip against each other and when his cock swelled as he came, that little southern minx clamped down with her pussy and her teeth in his shoulder and joined him.


End file.
